


Lucky

by Granger4013



Series: Vocabulary [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, General fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granger4013/pseuds/Granger4013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is breaking into the B&B--but who they are and what they're looking for is rather unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Burglar

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this idea out of my head--so here it is, unbeta'd so errors are all mine. 
> 
> Sometimes you just need a little bit of B&W fluffiness :-) Enjoy!!

Pete sat up with a jolt—cold sweat immediately springing across the back of his neck. Someone was in the house. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room the second they finished dinner. He and Steve had gotten back from a particularly brutal snag in Athens, and between the jet lag and the soreness lingering and tugging at his muscles from getting slammed against a wall at the Parthenon, it took all his energy just to make it through dinner. He had finished eating and collapsed fully clothed on the couch, unable to fathom the idea of actually climbing the stairs to his room. Now though, his mind was on high alert. The jostling of the back door had woken him, and now he could hear hurried rustling coming from the kitchen; whoever was in the house was in a hurry, all the noise they were making indicating that they weren’t seeking to be covert with their breaking and entering

He grabbed his tesla off the floor, only vaguely registering that he probably shouldn’t just leave it lying around like that, yet also being thankful that he had it nearby. He slowly crept through the hall, edging quietly towards the kitchen, gun in front of him, poised and ready to strike if necessary. As he peered around the door frame, he saw the back patio door flung wide open, but the kitchen remained completely dark, save for the light from the open refrigerator door glinting off the counters, casting odd shadows around the room. Pete registered a pair of feet under the door of the fridge, but otherwise the mystery burglar was hidden, completely bent double into the open cavern of the fridge. What the hell? What kind of person breaks in to steal food? What was he dealing with, the Grinch? Gripping his tesla a little tighter, he calmly, yet firmly called into the darkness, “Alright, hands off the cold cuts. Hands up, turn around and face me.”

He heard an exasperated sigh rebound through the quiet space, one that sounded vaguely familiar but wouldn’t register in his mind that was too focused on the possible danger of what was unfolding before him. “I’m serious kitchen crazy, hands up.”

“Oh honestly…”

Wait…that voice, realization careened through Pete’s brain, “What the hell? HG?”

“Yes Pete.” Helena unfolded herself from her stooped position, and turned towards the entryway, hands up in mock seriousness, “At ease Agent Lattimer, or are you going to shoot me for stealing your food?”

“What? No,” he lowered his tesla to his side and stepped further into the room. ‘HG, it’s two in the morning, what are you doing? You scared the shit out of me.”

“I gathered as much from all the gun pointing.” Helena leaned back into the fridge with a roll of her eyes. Pete heard jars jostling against her hands, until an exclamation of “ah ha!” resounded from the fridge. “What I am doing is pilfering your chips and salsa Pete, along with,” she stood back up and jiggled a half full container of orange juice in front of him, “your orange juice.”

Pete had the momentary thought that maybe HG had in fact lost it again, “Oooook, that’s fine, but why?”

Helena shut the door, dowsing them into darkness once again, save for the moonlight shining through the windows, “Because my wife apparently has been struck by a massive need for such things before she can go to bed, and our refrigerator is woefully empty of such essentials.”

Pete laughed, “Ah, Mykes is getting hit with the cravings, huh?”

A smile that warmed Pete’s heart lit up Helena’s face, “Yes, it would appear so.”

As Pete took in the image before him, HG Wells standing in her pajamas, arms full of food, wedding ring clinking against the orange juice container, Pete realized he’d never seen her look so domesticated, or so happy. “Sorry I almost shot you—I thought you were someone breaking in.”

“Quite alright. Technically I was breaking in, and it is rather late, I should’ve tried to be more quiet.”

“Man, Myka would have killed me if I’d tesla’d you.”

A soft sigh of laughter came from Helena’s lips, “Indeed. So it’s a good thing you didn’t.”

A silence settled over them, Pete shifted from foot to foot, “Hey, do you want some help carrying all that back over? You probably shouldn’t leave the pregnant lady waiting, and I doubt she’d be happy with you if you dropped her food all over the backyard.”

“On that count you are correct, but I should be able to manage on my own. Thank you Pete.” She turned back towards the patio door, but Pete’s voice stalled her steps, “HG…”

She looked over her shoulder at Pete who was leaning on his palms against the island, “Yes, Pete?”

“Thank you…for…for taking care of her.”

There’s that smile again Pete thought, that special, only about Myka, smile, “You’re very welcome. Taking care of her is the greatest thing that I do. Good night Pete.”

He returned her smile, “Good night HG.” As he watched her walk out the back door he was struck by just how much this woman had changed, and how deeply she loved his partner. Never in a million years could he have imagined that the woman who once left them unconscious in a vault in the middle of Egypt would become an irreplaceable part of their family, let alone be Myka’s wife. No, he can’t say he ever expected to see HG Wells bringing Myka food in the middle of the night because their baby was keeping her up with cravings. Man, Pete thought as he climbed the stairs to his room, endless wonder indeed.


	2. The Perfect Word

The path that led from the B&B’s back porch to their front door was dark save for the moonlight and the slight, subtle beam of light from their porch lamp. Yet, Helena’s feet walked by instinct, eyes ceasing to waver from the second story window where she could just make out the silhouette of Myka, book in her hands, softly backlit by the lamp on her nightstand. The thought crossed her mind unbidden, how the hell did you get so lucky? Lucky enough that that gorgeous woman up there loves you. Lucky enough that she’s having your baby, that she wants to build a family with you. Lucky doesn’t even seem like a powerful enough word, but it’s late and your writer’s brain isn’t filtering through vocabulary at it’s normal pace. 

You open the front door, kick your shoes into a corner, and go to the kitchen. You pour the orange juice into a mug Myka had bought you as a joke. Emblazoned across the front were lyrics from a hideous, but catchy 80’s song that Pete and Claudia adored singing at inappropriate times, “If I could turn back time…”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Myka had laughed when you unwrapped it, “It was just too good to pass up.”

You chuckle to yourself, then cradle the mug between your fingers, put the juice away in your fridge, grab the chips, and tuck the salsa under your arm, hoping you can make it up the stairs without making a complete and total mess. You push open the slightly ajar door to your bedroom with your foot, and Myka looks up at you with one of those looks that will never become commonplace or cease to make your heart skip a beat.

She marks her place, and sets her book on the nightstand, “I was starting to get worried about you. I was contemplating sending a search party.”

You set the mug down on the nightstand, hand over the food in your arms, and place a soft kiss against her forehead, “You can thank your darling partner for that.”

Myka turns to you as you climb into your side of the bed, her eyes simultaneously shocked and questioning, a chip dangling precariously between her fingers, “Oh God, what did he do?”

You steal a chip from the bag, “He came damn close to teslaing me. Apparently, he was deeply concerned I was a burglar hell bent on stealing all of his food.”

Myka’s laugh seeps into your chest and nestles there warmly, “That would figure. He can sleep through a tornado, but someone threatens his food and suddenly he’s Captain America.”

“I really should have known better than to come between Pete and his food, but what kind of wife would I be, if I wasn’t willing to risk that dangerous activity for you?”

“A terrible, terrible, terrible wife,” she leans over with a devilish smirk on her face and places a quick, but passionate kiss on your lips. “Thank you for risking life and limb to appease your pregnant wife, I desperately appreciate it.” 

“You’re quite welcome darling.” You kiss her again, and let your fingers come to rest lightly on her stomach, “Has our little monster calmed down any while I was gone?” A swift pressure against your hand gives you your answer, “Apparently not.”

She smiles at you and you wonder if you might die from how often this woman makes your heart threaten to stop beating, “He actually had, I think he likes your voice, or simply just enjoys kicking you.”

“He has his mother’s feistiness it would seem,” and you give her a quick wink.

“Hey!” She feigns offense, “you are just as feisty as I am!” Another kick moves your hand, “See he agrees with me!”

You laugh and kiss her cheek, and lean down to place a kiss against her stomach and your little boy’s hyper-active feet. “Do we have any plans to actually sleep this evening darling?”

Myka takes a sip of her orange juice and sighs in happiness, “Well, between our soccer player…”

“Football,” you teasingly correct, having gained a certain level of appreciation for your home country’s beloved sport over the last few years, though it is a never-ending battle between the two of you about what it is rightfully called.

“Our soccer player here, and how insanely hungry I am, I think I’m up for a little while longer. I’m sorry babe.”

“Nothing to apologize for my love. I am not in the least bit tired, nearly getting shot at gets one’s energy flowing.”

She laughs again, and again there are those unbidden thoughts, how much you love this woman, who is so sweet and loving, feisty and passionate. How, for lack of a better word still, lucky you are. “Well, if that’s the case, do you want to keep watching the movie? I paused it when you left. As long as my oh so attractive crunching of chips won’t distract you.”

“Crunch away my love. If you don’t eat them, it would mean that my brush with Pete’s tesla was all in vain.”

“My wife, the dramatist…”

“Always…you know you love me.”

She leans a hand down to comb through your hair, and her features that had been playful, turn soft, slightly serious, “I do. I love you so much.”

You place a light kiss into her palm that is resting against your cheek, “I love you too.” 

There’s a slight pause, where you just look at each other for a second, until another kick spikes up against your hand, “It would seem your son wants you to start the movie darling.”  
“Sure, all the sudden he’s my son when he’s being naughty.” She rolls her eyes, gives you a wink, and grabs the remote. The movie springs back to life, and you lay your head down into her lap. Her fingers lace through your hair, and you can feel, just slightly, the pressure of her wedding ring. You smile into the contact, and think to yourself that lucky might actually be the most perfect word ever invented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick, simple, and fluffy~I hope everyone enjoyed!
> 
> Comments aren't required, but they're fun to read, so feel free to jot them down if you are so inclined!


End file.
